Mrs Lovett's Lesson
by Novacaine Child
Summary: Mrs. Lovett gets into the gin and when it makes her say bad things about his darling Lucy, Sweeney feels that she needs to be severely punished. But what lengths will he go to? Rated for forced sexual scenes, language and violence. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Well, Darlings, I'm back! Yeah! "If I Cannot Fly" is still in progress and I needed a break from it (writing smut is hard work, especially with little people around. No, not hobbits fools, children)… So I'm pleased to announce that my second fanfic is born! Those of you who read the first one will know that I adore your reviews, and I'll love you forever if you tell me what you think of what I've written… Big special love to everyone who reviewed before, please review again!! This chapter is for grapenut01, Twitch, and my lovely fiancée, Helena Bonham Carter. All reviewers get an invite to the wedding. Yes, it's a real wedding. No, she isn't married to Tim Burton. He doesn't exist. Well, I suppose he's a publicity stunt or something… Yes, she does swing that way. Why kill the dream people? Just review!**

**This story:**

**Just a short one. Mrs. Lovett has a particularly bad night and gets into the gin. When Sweeney calls in on her, she starts to talk, completely unaware of how angry she is making Mr Todd… Rated M for sexual stuff, bad language and violence… So yeah, all the good stuff. It's a little twisted, so don't read on if you can't stomach forced sexual scenes, or bloody violence. Or if you can't bear to see Mrs. Lovett in pain…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or any related characters. Mrs. Lovett and I are getting married; however, this doesn't mean that I own her. As for the rest of the cast, well… Christmas is coming and I've been very, very good this year. Maybe Santa Claus will bring them to me. Then again, maybe not- if he sees me all the time and so on, he probably knows what I intend to do once I'm in possession of Sweeney Todd. It definitely falls into the "Naughty" category of his naughty/nice list…**

"Why are you staring at me like that, woman!" demanded Sweeney aggressively. He'd had a stressful day; All of his customers except one had brought their families with them today, which just made his job so much harder, and the one man who hadn't decided to drag his wife and children along had refused to die for the longest time; Sweeney must have run his razor through the man's beefy neck at least six times, but he hadn't stopped spluttering and gasping for at least ten minutes before he finally lie quietly. Mrs. Lovett's burning gaze was the final straw. She was irritating him more than was necessarily safe for her.

"Sorry, Mr T. Me thought's ran away with me for a second there." Mrs Lovett sighed and looked at her lap. She wished Sweeney would make a little more effort with her. Surely he could see how much she cared for him? Surely he must know. Why else would she clean up the messes that he made and do his dirty work for him? Why else wouldn't she just turn him in? She bit her lip and stood up.

"Anything I can get for you, Mister T?" She asked him timidly.

"No. Nothing. Leave me." Sweeney turned his back on her, and held a glinting razor up to the light, cleaning it carefully with a soft cloth. Rage surged up inside Mrs. Lovett. Hadn't she always been polite to him? Hadn't she always done exactly what he asked her to? And yet he cared more about those bloody razors than he did her! Why?

"I will then, Mr Todd. Sleep well," she told him icily. He grunted a response, clearly hearing nothing. That was it, she thought indignantly. She'd had a bloody hard day herself, Tobi had measles and couldn't help around the shop, and the lunch rush had gone on for hours today. She was exhausted and underappreciated and fed up.

As she stomped out of the room and down the stairs, she thought miserably to herself about what she was going to do that night. Yes, she thought sulkily, I'll know what I'll do. I'll go downstairs, and I'll get the gin. And I'll drink the whole damn bottle and feel better for it. Bitterly cursing Mr Todd, Mrs. Lovett entered her living room, grabbing a dirty looking glass and an almost full bottle of gin as she passed the shelf. She threw herself down on her sofa, poured herself a generous glass of the strong, clear beverage and gulped it greedily, refusing to acknowledge that she'd regret it later, angrily muttering all the bad words she could think of to call Mr Todd.

***

About an hour later, Mr Todd was just laying his razors down to rest, when he heard a peculiar noise coming from downstairs. Damn that woman, he thought despairingly. What's she doing now? It was her making the noise, he was sure of it. She sounded as though she were wailing, except the wails were now and then interrupted by a tiny sorrowful noise something along the lines of "hic". He sighed impatiently and headed towards the door, thinking that he should probably go and remind her that Toby had the measles and it was best not to wake him or he'd have them all driven crazy for hours complaining about the itching. The sound was getting louder as he descended the stairs, and he rolled his eyes at the noise she was making. Was she crying? She sounded almost as though a wild animal was tearing her apart. He ran down the last few steps, curious as to what the hell was wrong with her, and briskly strode through the pie shop. If she carries on screeching like that, she'll wake the boy, Sweeney thought angrily. He burst into her room.

A sorrowful sight met his eyes. Mrs Lovett was lying on her sofa, with pools of eye makeup smudged under her lower eyelids and streaks of the black substance bleeding down her face. Her dress was crumpled and dirty, and she looked decidedly dishevelled. On the floor lay an empty gin bottle on its side, the last few dregs of the drink having trickled out of the bottle and over the wooden floor, leaving a sticky stain. Ah. That would explain it.

"Mr T," said Mrs. Lovett accusingly, wincing as she swung her legs onto the floor and eased herself into a sitting position.

"My God, Mrs Lovett, what's wrong with you! Toby's asleep in the next room and you're getting drunk on the gin and bellowing for all of London to hear!" Sweeney shook his head in disbelief and disgust, and Mrs. Lovett retaliated, her eyes burning in her skull.

"Ss'your fault!" She slurred angrily. "Bloody ignorin' me all the time. Silly man."

Sweeney looked at her incredulously. Did she just call him...?

"Mrs. Lovett. You've had far too much gin and you're behaving ridiculously. Go to bed." He tugged her hand, attempting to heave her out of the chair, but she shook her head stubbornly.

"No," she hiccoughed.

"Why?"

"'Cause you and me," she drawled, "Have gotta talk, Mister Todd. Yes, we've got to talk." She nodded, frowning.

"Talk about what, you madwoman? It one o'clock in the morning!"

"'Bout you." She stood up menacingly, and hissed, "I don't like the way you've been treatin' me, Mr Todd. I'm good to you, I am. I do everything for you! And you're always just… rude!" Mr Todd's face changed rapidly from surprise to anger.

"Stupid woman. You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"Do," she insisted. "I'm better than your Lucy ever was! I treat you even nicer, she was useless, your wife. She couldn't do anything, she was weak! I've been better than she could ever be to you, Mister Todd. I'd be twice the wife she was. Silly little nit." Mrs. Lovett finished her little speech dismissively. Sweeney's face was like thunder.

"WHAT did you say about my Lucy?" He growled.

"Bleedin' useless," laughed Mrs. Lovett bitterly. "Silly girl."

Sweeney roared, and pulled her up from the sofa by her wrists.

"You stupid bloody woman!" he yelled. "You hardly knew Lucy! You're just jealous of her because she was prettier than you'll ever be." He threw the woman to the floor roughly, and turned away from her, shaking with anger.

"S'not why I'm jealous of her," whispered Mrs. Lovett mournfully, wiping a smear of blood from her lip where she'd bitten it in the fall. "I love you, Mr Todd."

He rounded on her, looking frighteningly infuriated.

"I don't care! You're not Lucy! You're not my Lucy, I'll never love you!" He screamed at her. He darted towards her and grabbed onto her hair, yanking smartly upwards. The hard day had taken its toll on him and he'd lost all grasp of reality. Mrs. Lovett's comments had just pushed him over the edge.

Mrs. Lovett gave a sharp gasp of pain and struggled to get to her feet as Sweeney dragged her towards the mirror on the opposite side of the room. Pulling her roughly into a standing position, he grabbed the hair on the back of her head and forced her to look at her reflection. Tears were streaming down her face and red hairs were clinging to her shoulders from where they'd been ripped out.

"Look at yourself," snarled Sweeney. "What colour is your hair?" Mrs. Lovett whimpered and said nothing. Anger bubbled over inside Sweeney. He put his face menacingly close to the baker's.

"D'you fucking hear me? What colour is your fucking hair, you stupid bitch?!"

"Red," Mrs. Lovett gasped out, as he gave her hair a particularly violent twist.

"Well done," he growled sarcastically. "What colour was Lucy's?"

"What colour?" he demanded again to Mrs. Lovett's stricken face.

"Yellow, Lucy's hair was yellow!" She cried, as he pulled hard on the downy hairs at the bottom of the back of her head.

That's right. It was fucking yellow. So don't think I'll ever love you! You're. Not. Fucking. Lucy!" With each cruel word, he ripped her head backwards, and slammed it with full force into the mirror. She screamed and sobbed hysterically, begging him to stop, feeling shards of glass slice into her face, feeling something warm and wet trickling down her face. He pulled her head back a final time and threw her back down on the ground. She landed awkwardly, spraining her wrist painfully, but she made no more sound, as Sweeney stood over her and began to kick. Again and again, his boot thudded into the woman curled on the floor, and she silently prayed for death. She lie still and waited for it to end.

Sweeney must have felt she'd had enough of this after a few minutes, because he stopped kicking her. Instead, he knelt next to her and swept her hair away from her bloody forehead. He turned her over and watched her wince and twitch as her tears trickled down into the bleeding cuts on her face.

"D'you still want to be Lucy, Mrs. Lovett? D'you still want to be my wife?" He asked, almost gently. She stirred and let her eyes flicker open, looking at him in confusion.

"Do you still want to be my wife?" Sweeney questioned her again, less politely. She frowned, and still stayed quiet. He suddenly turned vicious again, tired of her defiance. He slapped her hard across the face, making all of her cuts smart horribly. She whimpered and stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Answer me, now!"

"I still love you, Mr Todd," she murmured, nodding slowly.

Wrong answer.

"Bitch! What's wrong with you?!" yelled Sweeney, pulling her to her feet again by her sore wrist. She squeaked in pain and fright as he pulled her around to face him.

He pulled her close to him, raking his fingernails hard along her scalp. With his other hand, he directed Mrs. Lovett up against the wall. She stood trembling, unsure of what was going to happen next, knowing she wouldn't like it. Knowing it would hurt.

She was right.

With one hand, Sweeney was still clawing at the woman's head. The other he snaked up under her skirts and forced down into her knickers, roughly kneading the hot flesh there.

"Is this what you want, Mrs. Lovett," He growled at her. "Is this what you want from me? You want me to love you back?" He shook her roughly and pinched the slick nub beneath his fingers. "You want me to fuck you?" Mrs. Lovett stood terrified, wanting him to stop touching her, to go away. But he wasn't finished yet, it seemed.

"I've told you about fucking ignoring me, Mrs Lovett," he said threateningly. "Haven't you learnt your lesson yet, you stupid whore?" He kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue so far into her mouth that she gagged on it, pulling his hand out of her hair and jamming it down the front of her dress, sharply pinching her nipples. She cried out in pain as she felt his fingernails grip on her skin, leaving tiny half-moon indentations on her breasts.

"No, Mr Todd," she spluttered through the tears. "I don't want this."

"Are you sure?" mocked Sweeney, grinning evilly. Mrs. Lovett nodded frantically, but he ignored her, and thrust a finger up inside of her. She shrieked in pain; he hadn't taken of that ring, the spiky one… She gripped onto his shoulders to try to stop herself from losing her balance, but he slapped her away.

"Don't fucking touch me, you dirty little slut. D'you like this?" He shoved another finger roughly up inside her, and she cried out again, unable to stop herself. The pain was so intense; she felt as though she were being ripped in two. He sensed this, and added a third finger, then a fourth. Mrs. Lovett cried and screamed, begging him to stop, but he had her pinned against the wall and he wasn't about to let her go.

When he got bored of this new torture, he pulled his fingers out of her. There was blood all over his ring and over his fingers as far up as where they met his hands.

"Ugh. Dirty bitch. Look what you did to my hand! Got it all fucking messy." He held up his hand to show her, and she swallowed, praying for it to end. What would she have to do now? "Open your mouth," Sweeney snarled.

She shook her head. Why she did it, she'd never know. Maybe she was tired of his games, she'd had enough, she was feeling brave. Either way, it was a bad idea.

"Did you just fucking tell me no?" hissed Sweeney. Mrs. Lovett shook her head rapidly, shaking.

"Open your fucking mouth." Mrs. Lovett did, and cringed as the taste of her own blood and vaginal fluids hit her tongue. She gagged instinctively from the taste, and from Sweeney's fingers forcing themselves to the back of her throat. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth just in time for her to vomit all over his pinstripe trousers. She shook and gasped, as blood and the contents of her stomach fell from her mouth.

Sweeney watched calmly, staring at his soiled trousers.

When Mrs. Lovett eventually straightened up, Sweeney was staring at her coldly.

"You'll regret that," he said meanly. She tried to edge away, but he grabbed her collar and pulled her towards him.

"I will never love you, Mrs. Lovett," he whispered to her. "You're a little whore, and I'll be glad when you're dead…" Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened and she began to struggle. Don't let him mean…

With a flash of silver, Sweeney whipped a razor from a holster hooked onto his belt. He held it right up to Mrs. Lovett's eyes, and dragged it slowly from just underneath her right eye socket to her chin. A shiny stream of blood began to drip down her face as she cried with fear; the salty tears making it sting unbearably. Sweeney calmly pulled the razor down on the opposite side of her face. The effect was a gruesome tearful look, and Mrs. Lovett wriggled, terrified, as Sweeney held the razor up to her throat. She pressed her head back, trying to edge away from the blade, exposing her neck even more. Sweeney smiled.

"Darling, you look so sad! Why are you crying? Don't cry… I love you." He laughed loudly, and ran his fingers over the wounds with his free hand. She flinched. Sweeney lowered the razor so that it rested on her breasts. He shot her an evil look, and then began to saw.

Mrs. Lovett screamed. Pain rippled through her and she prayed once again to die or pass out.

"Shut up," spat Sweeney, and he jammed the blade forcefully into her stomach, twisting it. Mrs. Lovett gasped and fell, crumpling on the floor. Sweeney leant over her, and let a gob of saliva fall onto the writing woman's face. She choked, and moaned, before finally lying still.

Sweeney nudged her with his foot, and still she lie still. He smiled.

Mrs. Lovett had learnt her lesson.

She wasn't Lucy.

**So there you are Sweeney fans! A little mean to Mrs. Lovett I know, but it is fiction, so don't cry! I was a little vicious this time round but you have NO IDEA how stressed out I am because of various parents and siblings. The next one will probably be happier. Please, please read and review, much luvvage to all of you.**

**Beebee xxx**

**PS. If you read and review, Helena Bonham Carter will be naked in your room next time you go up there. **

**PPS. Not really though.**


	2. Something Hysterical

Hiya sweethearts!

Just to let you know, if you want a giggle, or even if you hated this fic, you should go to the Google search engine, type in my name ( ) and look for the video review given by some chick calling herself "the fanfic critic". It made me HYSTERICAL!

Love you!Beebs xxx


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